The eyes were full of energy and animation, not like the eyes of a spectator, but of one accustomed to do and to struggle--acting, not looking on. The whole party assembled in old Sarah’s living-room turned round and looked at her as she came in, and there was not one who did not feel abashed when they became conscious that for a moment this inspection was not quite respectful to the stranger. So far as real individuality and personal importance went, she was a more notable personage than any one of them. The Rector, who was the nearest to her in age, drew a little aside from before the clear eyes of this old woman. He had been a quiet man, harboured from all the storms, or almost all the storms of existence; but here was one who had gone through them all. As for Edgar, there was something in her looks which won his heart in a moment. He went up to her with his natural frankness, while the others stood looking on doubtfully. “I am sure it is you whom Perfitt has been talking to me about,” he said. “I hope you like Arden. I hope your granddaughter is better. And I trust you will tell Perfitt if there is anything than can be done to make you more comfortable; my sister and I will be too glad----” Here Clare stepped forward, feeling that she must not permit herself to be committed. “I am sure Sarah will do her very best to make you comfortable,” she said, with great distinctness, not hurrying over her words, as Edgar did--and not disposed to permit any vague large promises to be made in her name. She was not particularly anxious about the stranger’s comfort; but Edgar was hasty, and would always have his way. “I am much obliged to ye both,” said the newcomer, her strong yet soft Scotch voice, with its broad vowels, sounding large and ample, like her person. She gave but one glance at Clare, but her eyes dwelt upon Edgar with curious interest and eagerness. No one else in the place seemed to attract her as he did. She returned the touch of his hand with a vigorous clasp, which startled even him. “I hear ye’re but late come hame,” she said, in a deep melodious tone, lingering upon the words. “Yes,” said Edgar, somewhat surprised by her air of interest. “I am almost as much a stranger here as you are. Perfitt tells me you have come from the hills. I hope Arden will agree with the little girl.” “Is there some one ill?” said Clare. “My granddaughter,” said the stranger, “but no just a little girl--little enough, poor thing--the weakliest I ever trained; but she’s been seventeen years in this world--a weary world to her. Her life is a thread. I cannot tell where she got her weakness from--no from my side.” “Na; not from your side,” echoed Perfitt, who had been standing behind. “But Mr. Arden has other things ado than listen to our clavers about our family. I’ll go with you, with his leave, up the stair.”